


Cyclic

by zeraparker



Category: Formula E RPF, Motorsport RPF
Genre: Aftercare, Bondage, Deepthroating, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Japanese Rope Bondage, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Negotiations, Nipple Clamps, Nipple Play, Oral Sex, Painplay, Rope Bondage, Sub Drop, Voyeurism, kind of established relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-26 10:37:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22546513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zeraparker/pseuds/zeraparker
Summary: I need your help, Jean-Eric had said, after they had exchanged the usual smalltalk when he’d phoned André in the evening two days ago. André had been standing on the balcony of his flat in Monaco, staring out across the lights of the harbour. The sun had set a while ago. He swirled a finger wide of whiskey in a tumbler.It’s about Carl.
Relationships: André Lotterer/Jean-Eric Vergne, Carl Gurdjian/André Lotterer, Carl Gurdjian/André Lotterer/Jean-Eric Vergne, Carl Gurdjian/Jean-Eric Vergne
Comments: 9
Kudos: 21





	Cyclic

**Author's Note:**

> Saw a very sexy set of bondage pics on twitter, couldn't stop thinking about them, this is what came out of it. Just wanted to write some quick rope bondage, well, it turned into bondage and then lots of aftercare, so if you're just here for the porn, you can probably stop reading halfways through :D
> 
> Anyway, enjoy, fellow kinksters!
> 
> Lots of love as so often go out to lost_decade, thank you for encouraging the flith.

It’s a cyclic thing. 

Jean-Eric has known Carl for long enough by now that he’s noticed the pattern, that he can anticipate it. It’s not bound to a certain amount of time, might happen as often as once every other month and then go for a year before it will happen again, but in the end, it always will. It always starts with a restlessness, the way Carl jiggles his leg more than usual, the way his smoking intensifies, going through a pack within days; he becomes snappy, his micromanaging of Jean-Eric’s life and the people around him taking on a new level of intensity, making decisions without asking Jean-Eric first and then presenting him with the results, with a new sponsor deal or the plan for their next flights and hotel bookings, the interviews and shootings he sets up. It’s always good stuff, but that’s usually the point by which Jean-Eric will start to push back, making him aware of his transgressions. Nic has turned into a good buffer for these occasions, neatly inserting himself between their flaring egos; the team is good too, though Antonio hasn’t quite adapted to it in the same way André did, Antonio’s loyalties true but a big part of his focus going outwards, to his family, his friends, his life outside the paddock walls in a way that Jean-Eric knows is healthy, but hasn’t quite managed to realise for himself. Lorene had been a step in the right direction, but in the end it hadn’t worked out, and the regret he’d carried over the second half of the summer has dispersed by now, helped along by André’s renewed presence in his life, the kinship that had seemed impossible spanning across team borders now possibly stronger than it had been before, without the need to constantly compare their results driving the same cars.

It’s what Jean-Eric is thinking about when he’s thumbing through Carl’s latest instagram posts, one party segueing into the next, the ongoing base thumping distorted by the microphone of the phone he took the videos on. It’s a cycling thing. The parties will be followed by Carl disappearing from everywhere for a day, a weekend, and when he’ll come back, he’ll be tired, exhausted, his skin bruised and marked in a way that the first time Jean-Eric had noticed years ago had made himself go pale in turn, the way Carl had flinched from Jean-Eric’s grasp on his upper arm, accidentally pressing into more hidden bruises. 

In the end it’s not even that Jean-Eric doesn’t understand; he does, God, he so does, knowing the way pain and submission can take you out of your head sometimes, reset your brain, has been on the receiving end of that himself more than once. He just hasn’t expected Carl needing the same sometimes. It’s a cyclic thing, and Jean-Eric is in Florida with Nic, enjoying the warmth and the good weather and just being away from everyone for a while, expecting Carl to go wherever he does to get what he needs so that he’ll be his usual calm, composed self when they’re all heading out to Chile in the middle of January, only to get a call in the early hours of morning shortly after New Year’s complaining about the misbehaviour of a team member, and everything that goes along with it. He keeps texting with Carl throughout the next day, learns Carl is flying back to Paris to advise the team on how to handle things, to dance the sponsor appeasing tango to calm what waves the incident has caused, taking the whole thing as personal as if the team is his and his alone. 

_ I could kiss you, you know, _ Jean-Eric texts him after a conference call with the team bosses, feeling incapable of helping from where he is on the other side of the Atlantic. 

_ Don’t worry, I’ll handle it, _ Carl texts back minutes later, and Jean-Eric refuses to feel guilty about him having to do the work, knows he’ll get paid for it handsomely. It does take away from the handful of free days Carl has in between New Year’s and the start of the season though, and when Jean-Eric returns to Paris, Carl is waiting for them outside the airport, leaning against his car with a cigarette held between the fingers that are also holding his phone, thumbing through his social media feed, his body exuding a carefully controlled tension that Jean-Eric can feel thrumming through him when they hug. He steals the rest of the cigarette from him to calm his own addiction screaming for a hit after the cross-Atlantic flight.

“Are you okay?” Jean-Eric can’t help asking after they’ve dropped off Nic at his place, reaching across the middle console of the car to rest his hand on Carl’s leg, feel the tightly bunched muscle of his thigh jerk beneath his palm.

“I’m fine,” Carl says reflexively, and he sounds more tired than angry, Jean-Eric thinks. He doesn’t like it.

“Let me take care of you,” Jean-Eric offers, rubbing the inseam of Carl’s jeans with his fingertips.

His offer startles a derisive snort from Carl. He glances across the inside of the car, catching Jean-Eric’s eyes for a moment before concentrating back on the mid-morning traffic around them. “You?” He sounds mean; he sounds defensive. 

Jean-Eric can feel his cheeks heat up. It’s not their usual setup, it’s always been Carl taking care of him, no matter the circumstances, no matter his needs. He wants to give back. “Let me figure it out,” he proposes, waiting with baited breath until Carl nods jerkily, his hands tightening around the steering wheel. “Thank you,” Jean-Eric says, relaxing into the embrace of the car seat, his mind already running wild. He knows who he’s going to ask, the last man who has made him submit, forget about himself for a while. 

He’s going to call André.

  
  


“He’s on his way.”

André looks up from where he’s running the length of cotton rope through his hands, making sure it’s untangled. The contents of the extra bag he’d quickly thrown together before driving up to Paris the day before are in more of a disarray than he likes. Jean-Eric is walking in from the kitchen, glasses and a jug of chilled water with lemon slices in his hands, the shape of his phone bulging out the front of his tight jeans. André murmurs a thanks when Jean-Eric sets everything down on the coffee table, filling a glass for him. Then he has to bat his hand away when Jean-Eric perches on the couch on the other side of his bag, curious fingers trying to fish some item out of the bag that André is just ordering. 

It’s not ideal, not the setup André would usually go for; hell, he doesn’t even know what Carl wants, whether he’s even able to provide that. Jean-Eric’s call had found him unprepared, his mind still sluggish after the New Year’s party in Monaco, not yet ready to think about the beginning of the new year, but the few words they’d exchanged had peaked his interest. He picks up the end of the rope, holding it in his hand and quickly loops it into slings spanning down to his elbow, securing it with a simple knot to keep it from tangling again. He means to return it to the bag, but Jean-Eric takes it out of his hand before he can put it down, feeling it between his fingers. It looks weird in his hands, the way he clumsily handles it.

_ I need your help, _ Jean-Eric had said, after they had exchanged the usual smalltalk when he’d phoned André in the evening two days ago. André had been standing on the balcony of his flat in Monaco, staring out across the lights of the harbour. The sun had set a while ago. He swirled a finger wide of whiskey in a tumbler.  _ It’s about Carl _ . 

It had blindsided him. It isn’t that he hadn’t known Carl is a kinkster: they had sniffed out each other early on with the certain recognition of seeing an equal, someone he immediately knew ticked alike, ticked similar boxes. They had talked about it once, over champagne and cocktails sitting in a whirlpool on Mykonos, watching Jev drunkenly flirt with everyone, a mutual understanding between them, Carl’s curiosity about the shibari practices André had picked up in Japan. But that had been a long time ago now, just an intellectual exchange of experiences, and didn’t prepare him to have Jean-Eric of all people call him up to ask him about kink, about a dynamic Jev doesn’t practise, doesn’t know. 

Jean-Eric, who is vanilla enough to think of himself as kinky, having his hair pulled and enjoying the occasional slap on his arse during sex would prepare him for the things André knows could be on the table if Carl agreed to see this through. 

It makes anticipation curl pleasantly in his stomach. It’s been a while since he’s had someone regular to play with, not yet having found a club in Europe like the one he’d frequented in Tokyo, having enjoyed the anonymity of the city on the other side of the world, not having had to worry about being found out there. It’s not something he needs all the time, and fucking Jev or someone else who is happy enough to be bossed around some, who likes to play with handcuffs and blindfolds but doesn’t take it seriously, usually is enough to scratch the itch, but getting to play with someone who is experienced, where the stakes are higher, has its own appeal. André can’t deny himself wanting.

Dragging himself out of his thoughts, André takes a look at the clock on the shelf, trying to guess how long it will take for Carl to arrive. He takes a sip from his water, then gets up, walking out of the room to use the bathroom. When he returns a couple minutes later, Jev is leaning over the open bag on the couch, digging through the contents again. It sets André’s nerves on edge. Jean-Eric is a wildcard, and he isn’t quite sure how his presence might tip the scales. 

André clears his throat. “You remember the rules, right?”

Jev looks up, his ears turning pink at being caught with one hand still in the toy bag. “You’re calling the shots, and I’m not going to question you?” he paraphrases what they had talked about first on the phone, then when André had arrived at his place the night before.

André nods, opening his mouth to say something, but he’s cut off by the ringing of the doorbell. They both turn in unison, looking over the back of the couch towards the hallway, before Jean-Eric gets to his feet, going to answer the door. André uses the moment alone to center himself, surveying the room: the coffee table they moved off center of the couch, the thin gauzy curtains in front of the windows allowing the afternoon light to filter through but keeping them from prying eyes of the windows on the other side of the street. The couch is littered with pillows, a stack of clean towels and the folded fabric of Jev’s bathrobe. André moves to sit more comfortable, resting one arm on the back of the couch to look at the open door into the hallway, from where he can hear voices, the sound of the apartment door closing, the thud of Carl’s shoes hitting the floor. 

A moment later Carl precedes Jev through the door into the living room. He freezes, stopping mid sentence as his eyes meet André’s, before he catches himself, visibly pulling himself together as he averts his eyes, dropping the duffle bag he is carrying over his shoulder onto the floor, pushing it against the wall. André follows him with his eyes, trying to gauge his mood, seeing him in person for the first time since their party before Christmas. He’s dressed in a grey suit and white button down shirt, a blue silk tie knotted delicately around his throat. As he watches, Carl reaches up to loosen the tie, pulling it off to dangle it over the back of a chair, leaning back against the desk at the side of the room. He undoes the top two buttons of his shirt, visibly trying to shake off the business meeting he must have attended earlier, to get back to the casual look he prefers, though the strain lingers in the lines around his eyes, the rigid set of his shoulders, tension rolling off him in waves. André breathes it in, steadily watching him fidget until Carl raises his eyes to meet his gaze for a long moment, testing. André doesn’t back down, holding it steadily until Carl’s eyes flicker away on the next exhale, his hand clenching against the edge of the table.

“I need a drink,” Carl announces just as André feels Jev settle back on the couch next to him, the cushions dipping beneath his weight.

André nods at the coffee table by the side of the couch. “There’s water,” he offers, watching Carl’s eyes move from the shelf on the wall holding Jev’s liquor bottles to the jug and glasses set out on the coffee table. A muscle in Carl’s jaw twitches.

“I need a smoke.” He stuffs a hand into the pocket of his suit jacket, retrieving a wrinkled pack of cigarettes. He pushes away from the desk, crossing the room to the balcony door and cranks it open, disappearing outside on socked feet.

André can feel Jev’s eyes on him the moment the balcony door closes behind Carl.

“What the fuck is going on?” he asks, confused.

André exhales, leaning towards the coffee table to pick up his glass and take a sip. “Give him a moment. He isn’t really here yet,” he says, hoping he is reading Carl right. He forces himself to keep his relaxed posture, settling into the couch to wait, watching the shadow of Carl’s body out on the balcony, the curtains making his shape fuzzy. As he is anticipating, it doesn’t take long before the balcony opens again, the curtains billowing in the draft of cool air. Carl steps back into the room, his eyes moving between André’s relaxed posture and Jev sitting a meter away on the couch. He drops his smokes onto the desk, taking off his suit jacket to hang it over the back of the chair neatly, then pushes up the shirt cuff of his left hand and undoes the watch strap, putting his wrist watch next to his smokes. His phone joins the items on the desk.

“Can we just start doing this?” Carl snaps, his eyes still cast down at his hands where he’s meticulously lining up his belongings in a neat row spaced exactly the same distance apart from each other.

André smiles to himself. “You’re not a natural at this,” he observes, watching Carl flinch before he looks up to meet his eyes, his throat working as he swallows.

“Are you really going to make me talk about it?” Carl asks, the slightest note of desperation to his voice, one André knows most people wouldn’t have caught.

“Yes,” he says, his voice firm. He gets up from the couch slowly, rolling his shoulders. “Even if you don’t like it.” He takes a step closer, feeling his own heart thunder with anticipation as Carl averts his eyes again. His knuckles are white where he’s grasping onto the edge of the table. “At least as much as is necessary.”

“Like what?” Carl says, struggling visibly to stay still.

“How about you tell me your safeword, and in return you may kneel on the floor?” he suggests, following his guts to figure out how to help Carl along. He’d expected something like this, knowing from experience that the need to submit doesn’t always come with an ease to slip into the role, no matter how much one craves it. He watches Carl’s body language closely, seeing and hearing him exhale deeply after a moment of utter stillness. He lifts his eyes from the ground but doesn’t meet André’s eyes, his gaze settling somewhere in the middle of André’s chest as he nods shortly.

“Méribel,” he offers, his voice quiet but steady as he says the single word, his gaze trained on André’s chest.

“Good,” André encourages, taking a step to the side, out of the immediate line of view of the couch, the thick rug with the ridiculous pattern of Jev’s logo in the weave padding the floor there. “You may kneel.”

  
  


The rug is soft beneath his socked feet. Carl walks across the room to the space André has pointed out to him, refusing to meet Jev’s eyes as he comes closer to the couch. He doesn’t know why he had expected Jean-Eric to leave, it’s not like Jean-Eric has ever not been a nosy little shit. The fabric of his slacks tightens as he sinks to his knees. He’d been to the gym this morning, trying to work off some of the restless energy to be able to sit through the business meeting he had scheduled for lunch, but it hadn’t really helped. He hopes this will, he wants it to, needs it; but he’s weary too, playing with someone new always as much a challenge as it might be a relief. He is prepared to call this off if he has to, knows it’s a valid possibility. He’s pretty sure André would know how to handle that, wouldn’t take it personal. He isn’t as sure about Jean-Eric. Feeling his curious gaze on him makes his skin itch, makes him hyper aware of his surroundings, of the fabric of his clothes against his skin, of the stray strand of hair curled against his temple. He forces his breathing into a steady rhythm, his body tense already on the verge of pushing himself to his feet again. Then André’s hand settles heavy and warm at the nape of his neck.

“I don’t know what you like, so I’m going to ask you a couple simple questions. All I need is a yes or no, but you may say more if you feel the need to elaborate. Understood?” André asks, his voice calm and clear, the pad of his thumb pressing against the side of his neck.

“Yes,” Carl agrees, settling into the steady hold of André’s hand. He closes his eyes, trying to focus on his breathing.

“Jev told me some of his observations, and you know I do shibari. So. Rope bondage, yes or no?” André starts.

Carl swallows, exhaling deeply. This one is easy to answer. “Yes.”

“Good.”

Carl could easily hear the smile in André’s voice. André steps away from him, the hold he had on his neck turning into a caress along his shoulder as he walks around him and then away. Carl opens his eyes, seeing his feet on the carpet a couple steps away by the couch, then follows the legs upwards with his eyes to watch André retrieve a couple lengths of red rope from a bag and lay them out on the couch cushion. He picks one up, undoing the simple knot holding it together and allowing it to uncoil onto the floor. It makes a swishing sound as he drags the rope through his hand to determine the middle Carl can see has been marked by black string.

“Hands behind your back.”

The order makes Carl’s mouth go dry, the tone of André’s voice sending a shiver down his spine. His hands are sweaty where they are resting against his thighs. He bites back a sound, sensing more than seeing André walk around to come to stand behind him again, looming over him, waiting. Carl wants him to repeat the order, to just grab his wrists and do it for him, but the relaxed calm André has around him makes him certain that André is just going to wait him out, that Carl will have to do it himself. Fuck. He shivers again. Taking a breath, he lifts his hands from his thighs, curling his fingers into fists as he moves them to rest against the small of his back, one wrist crossed over the other.

“Good.” André’s voice is like warm honey, his praise helping Carl to breathe a little easier. He can hear André’s knees click as he kneels on the floor behind him, then warm fingers touching his arms, his wrists, pushing them up, arranging them with the soft inside of his wrists against each other, his lower arms parallel to the floor. The warm leather of his bracelets feels like a cuff around his right wrist. Then he feels André start to thread the rope around his arms. The thin fabric of the button down shirt forms a barrier between the rope and his skin. Normally he would be naked by this point. It weirds him out, makes him aware of every crease in the fabric sliding against his skin as André ties the rope above his wrists, then loops it around for a second sling which he also ties off. He pushes his finger in between the rope and Carl’s arm, checking the comfort of the fit.

“So, what else do you need?” André asks, almost conversationally as he measures the rope up his back, pressing it against his spine below his shoulder blades, then gets up to walk around him once, the rope pressing into Carl’s skin beneath his pecs, crossing his chest over his solar plexus before André guides it back to his spine, fitting another knot there. “I can see that this gets you hard,” André says, having noticed the obvious bulge tenting out the front of Carl’s slacks by now. Carl can feel himself flush. His fists tighten, digging the blunt crescents of his fingernails into his palms, pulling against the rope around his wrist for a moment. It doesn’t give. He breathes through the sudden urge to rip his hands from the bounds, to struggle against the tight knot. He can feel André’s hand twist the knot at his spine, drawing the rope taut around his chest. “Is sexual pleasure part of it for you?”

“Yes.”

André hums. He lets go of the knot at Carl’s spine, before his fingers move along the horizontal rope to where it spans from Carl’s torso to run over his upper arm. He twists one end of the rope in between Carl’s flank and the inside of his arm, securing the rope beneath Carl’s armpit by a set of loops and knots, before running it back to the middle of Carl’s back, repeating the process on his other side. “Orgasms?” he asks as he makes another knot a little higher up Carl’s spine.

“Yes.”

“Oral?” he asks as he walks around Carl again, this time pulling the rope across his chest an inch above his nipples. He stops, reaching up with one hand to tilt Carl’s chin up, forcing him to meet his eyes. Carl swallows, forcing himself to meet André’s eyes.

“Yes.”

André hums again, his pupils dilating a fraction as he presses his thumb against Carl’s lips. Carl opens his mouth for him, obediently sucking his thumb into his mouth, feeling André press down on his tongue. Drool is gathering in his mouth and he closes his eyes for a moment, feeling the constriction of the rope around his chest with every deep inhale, helping him to sink into it. For a moment he forgets everything around them. Then he hears the creaking of the couch behind André. It jars him enough that he opens his eyes. André is still looking closely at him. “Anal?” He pulls his thumb from Carl’s mouth, smearing his saliva against his cheek.

Carl swallows, but can’t help his eyes flickering to look past André in front of him to where Jean-Eric has shifted on the couch to get a better look at what they’re doing. Jev’s cheeks are flushed, and he’s undone the button of his jeans, but he’s unusually quiet, gazing at Carl with undivided intensity. He doesn’t know how to deal with that. His arms flex against the rope.

“Carl,” André orders, his voice a calm but strict tone, recentering his attention away from Jev.

Carl takes another breath, licking his lips, still too much saliva in his mouth. He wants to say yes. But. “Not with him,” he says quietly, though he knows that Jev must have heard anyway.

“That’s fine,” André says, his voice as even as it had been before. His hand cups Carl’s cheek. “But it’s okay if he watches?” Jev makes a noise behind him, but André shushes him with a twist of his body and a snap of his fingers before he returns his attention to Carl, his fingers against Carl’s cheek gentle. “Is it okay if Jev watches?” Carl takes a breath, nodding his head, his yes murmured quietly. “Is he allowed to touch you, too?” André asks next, and it takes Carl a moment longer to settle the nerves in his stomach. He nods again.

“Yes.”

André smiles at him, his fingers moving from Carl’s cheek to his hair, tightening in the long strands suddenly, sending a sharp throb through him. “How about painplay?”

“Yes,” Carl repeats, the word barely more than a breathy moan, then hisses when André lets go of his hair as he walks back behind him to finish the second loop of rope around his chest with another knot before he runs the rope higher to the nape of his neck. He ties a knot there before the rope is divided into two length, each hanging over one of his shoulders to his front. André stands behind him for a moment, his feet on either side of Carl’s shins. He combs his fingers through Carl’s hair. The movement makes him sway back on his knees until his back rests against André’s legs.

“You’re doing really well,” André says, his hand tightening in Carl’s hair steadily, until he can’t hold in another moan, feeling the ache spread across his skull, holding for a long moment. When he lets go, Carl’s head feels incredibly light. He breathes easily, then keens when he feels André’s fingers at his ears. André traces the soft skin along the conch, then leaves a row of tiny, biting pinches along the way, his fingernails digging in quick but strong. He can feel the blood rush into the strained tissue, his ears heating up, feeling almost numb when strands of his hair brush against them. It makes him aware of how hot he feels all over, the fabric of his clothes trapping the heat of his skin, starting to stick to him in places. André’s hand tapping his cheek drags him back out of his thoughts. “Slapping?” he suggested thoughtfully.

“Yes,” Carl agrees, flinching a moment later when André slaps his cheek with more force than the tap it had been before, making his skin sting.

“Other spanking?”

Carl blinks his eyes open, his gaze drawn to the bag on the couch, appraising. “Not canes or whips,” he says, but nods when he hears André suggest crops and floggers.

“Steady now,” André says, his hand settling on Carl’s shoulder as he steps back, making Carl sway as he finds his balance, only then realising how resting against André had felt like a break, having relaxed his muscles. He watches as André steps in front of him, then settles onto his knees too. His fingers meticulously check the already tied bonds for fit before he draws one of the ropes that is hanging over his shoulder down, drawing it into a knot where it is intersecting the first rope running horizontally across his chest. It makes the dangling end of the rope slap lightly against his chest, against his nipple. Of course André notices.

“Is this good?” he asks, rubbing at Carl’s chest with the pad of his thumb, zeroing in on his nipple which is already a hard little nub beneath the fabric of his button down shirt. His fingers pinch again, the sensation dulled and not as sharp as his fingernails had been against Carl’s ear, but it is still enough to make him squirm, to whimper desperately. “Oh this is really good,” André says, smirking like the cat that got the cream. “Jev, would you have a look in the bag, please? There’s a blue drawstring bag inside,” he orders. Carl’s eyes snap up, looking at Jean-Eric for the first time in a while, watching as Jev leans to the side to look into the larger bag set out on the couch. He sticks his hand inside, pulling a small bag as described out.

“It’s heavy,” Jean-Eric comments. He holds it out for André who turns a little, then tosses it the short distance to not have to get up from the couch, still weary. It gives a muted, metallic clink as André catches it in his hand. Carl can feel his fingers twitch in anticipation, already guessing what the bag contains as André draws the strings open, sorting around the items inside.

“I’ve never actually tried to attach these through fabric,” André says conversationally as he draws a length of chain out of the bag, at either end the nipple clamps Carl has already suspected the bag would hold. He swallows, feeling his cock throb inside his pants, knows the fabric of his underwear is already wet with precome. “Let’s see if this works.”

It does. Carl bites the inside of his cheek to keep from crying out as he feels the clamp bite down on the sensitive nub of his nipple, a moment of tight pressure before André lifts it away again, adjusting the fabric of his shirt to better center it through the fabric, then clamps it on. Carl can’t help looking down, watches as André turns a small screw set into the clamp, ramping up the pressure. The chain is dangling down, tugging on his sensitive nipple, the fabric doing nothing to dull the sensations. André hums contently, lifting his hand to touch Carl’s other nipple. The dual sensations, so different in their intensity, make his eyes water. Carl helplessly struggles against the rope, which in turn only makes his shirt shift and the chain attached to the clamp swing, ripping a choked off moan from his lips.

“Mmh, you’re becoming so responsive,” André praises as he secures the second clamp on his other nipple, the sensation going from pleasure to painful, tight pressure, almost numbing in its intensity. He hooks his finger around the chain connecting the two clamps, drawing it taut, holding it like that for a long moment. “Just breathe through it,” he says calmly, and Carl finds himself following the simple instruction without thought, feeling his own tolerance level slip a notch. It’s a heady feeling.

André lowers the chain carefully back against Carl’s chest before his fingers return to the ends of the ropes that are still hanging loosely down from Carl’s shoulders, starting to finish the front half of the harness. Carl keeps his eyes shut, unable to follow the intricate pattern André is spinning like a spider web across his chest, his whole focus narrowed to where every loop and knot of the rope stirs the fabric of his shirt, setting off a chain reaction that tugs on his abused nipples.

When he realises that André is done, he doesn’t know for how long he’s been done already, having been too preoccupied with keeping himself still, with focusing on his breathing. He feels dazed, lightheaded. His vision is slightly blurry when he opens his eyes, blinks them a couple times. The smirk on André’s lips tells him he’s been out a while.

“You look gorgeous, trussed up like this for us,” André says when he’s sure he’s got Carl’s attention, reaching out to comb his fingers through his hair again, his nails a blunt scratch against Carl’s skull. “Kissing?”

It takes him another long, sluggish moment to realise André’s asked him another question, another boundary he isn’t sure whether crossing it would be allowed. It makes Carl feel secure and cared for, warmth different from the heat of arousal spreading through him, making him melt inside, the last scraps of doubt and apprehension he’d felt coming to Jean-Eric’s place for something he’d never ask his friend for draining away. “Yes,” he agrees breathily, and is rewarded with another tight twist of his hair as André uses it as leverage to pull him forwards and claim his mouth greedily. Carl moans, sinking into it, allowing the sensations to sweep him away, calm spreading through his body.

  
  


André sits back, gazing at his work. Carl has his eyes closed, his lips wet from kissing are slightly open as he draws laboured breaths, making his chest heave, push against the ropes. The chain between his nipples swings lightly. Heat is radiating off his body, the scent of his sweat mixed with the scent of arousal. His thighs are splayed to better keep his balance, though it doesn’t entirely remove the sway of his body. His dick is a hard line beneath the grey fabric of his slacks, a dark stain spreading through the cloth damp with precome. André takes a deep breath to center himself, to push away the sharp urge of his own arousal, and gets to his feet. The ice cubes in the water jug on the coffee table have melted by now, but the water still feels pleasantly cool against his tongue, the hint of lemon refreshing. He drinks the whole glass before he allows himself to turn around.

Jean-Eric has slumped slightly down the couch, his long limbs askew. He’s opened the front of his jeans, his t shirt pushed aside to reveal a span of his stomach. He’s drawn his cock from the layers of his jeans and underwear, jerking himself slowly, his eyes never leaving Carl kneeling on the rug in front of the couch. André can see the wet tip of his cock on every downstroke.

“Do you want to fuck his mouth?”

Jean-Eric keeps staring at Carl, taking a long moment before he turns his head as if startled, a dazed expression on his face. “Me?”

It makes André smirk. “Yes. I’ll hold him for you.”

The suggestion makes Jev curse and Carl groan deep from his chest. André picks up the cold water jug, holding it between his hands for a moment before he sets it down and walks up to Carl, stepping behind him as he’d been earlier. He lifts his hand, placing his palm cool and damp from the condensation on the glass jug on Carl’s forehead, his other hand against his throat, cooling the heat of his skin.

“If you’re good, I’ll even let you come afterwards,” André suggests, his voice a low murmur. Carl nods against the gentle hold of his hands. “Great.” He leaves his hand on Carl’s forehead, using the other to grasp the knot at the back of Carl’s neck, making sure he’s got the rope in his hand securely but comfortably enough to hold for a while. Then he looks up at Jev. “Well?”

Jev struggles to his feet, arousal overriding any grace. His face flushes a shade deeper as he pulls the belt from his jeans, discarding it onto the couch behind him. He doesn’t bother stripping his shirt or jeans off, just pushes his jeans and underwear down his arse, freeing his cock, holding it in a tight grasp. André looks down at it, at the dark red colour of the tip; he can tell this won’t last long, that this will be messy. It’s what he counts on.

“Come on, then,” André invites, making sure he’s got a steady stand on the floor. He draws Carl back against his legs even though that makes his hold on him kind of uncomfortable, the way he has to twist his wrist, but he doesn’t want to give Carl any chance to back away. His own dick is hard in his jeans, but it’s an almost faraway feeling, noted only at the edge of his consciousness. His focus is entirely on the men in front of him, the pleasure he gets from watching them obey his orders running far deeper than the physical pleasure of stimulation to his cock could go right now. He can feel it light up within himself, latching onto that heat as he watches Jev step up closer to them, his knees almost touching Carl’s chest. Jev looks up, meeting his eyes momentarily, and André grins encouragingly.

“Come on, Carl, open up,” André prompts, just so biting back a moan himself as he sees Carl obey instantaneously, and Jean-Eric guide his dick to his lips.

André knows that Carl can suck cock; he’s been both at the receiving end of it and watched him suck Jev into a pleading, squirming mess before, but there’s something different when he isn’t in control of himself or the person he’s performing on, and André can feel the struggle as he has to adjust to Jean-Eric setting the rhythm, setting the depth of how he’s slowly pushing his dick between Carl’s lips, into his mouth, unable to do anything to get the upper hand like he usually would, turning the submissive act into an act of giving.

“Fuck,” Jev is cursing quietly under his breath as he shifts his stance, lifting one hand to grasp into Carl’s hair, to anchor himself as he bucks his hips forwards carefully. André allows it, moving his own hand from Carl’s forehead down to his throat, not really directing him, just feeling the muscles and sinews shift beneath the skin as Carl forces himself to accommodate the girth and length of Jev’s cock. He can feel his throat constricting beneath his palm a fraction before he hears Jev’s groan at the tightening feeling around his dick as Carl struggles not to gag, but Jev isn’t letting him get away with it, knowing Carl can take it. He allows him just enough room to draw in unsteady breaths through his nose as he sets a deep, firm rhythm with his hips, pushing himself ever further into Carl’s mouth, down his throat. The noises he makes are obscene. André can feel saliva drool from the corner of his mouth, down onto his hand.

“God, you’re filthy,” André murmurs, his voice full of awe. He moves his thumb to rub through the wetness of his drool, then lifts his hand. Jev’s eyes are wide and dark as André pushes his thumb into his mouth, groaning as he sucks greedily, his tongue swirling around his thumb, the gentle bite of teeth as André drags his thumb from Jev’s mouth, smearing it along the edge of his jaw as he moves his hand to cup the back of Jev’s neck, drawing him into a messy, open-mouthed kiss. Jev groans into the kiss, his hand twisting into the waistband of André’s jeans as he thrust forwards, and André can feel the pressure as he pushes Carl back into André, can feel how Carl has nowhere to go, made to take Jev’s cock deep into his throat, the thrusts of Jev’s hips turning into small, needly rolls as he comes. He whimpers as he pulls away from the kiss, his forehead pressed to André’s as orgasm rushes through him, fighting to keep upright as he shudders all over. André can feel Carl struggling between them, trying to swallow Jev’s come, trying not to gag, in that moment probably unable to draw breath at all. It makes André keep a hold of Jev for a moment longer before he lets go of Jev’s neck, feels Jev’s fingers uncurl from his waistband as he withdraws slowly.

Carl’s head slumps forwards, gasping for breath around coughs, the ropes cutting into his skin as his body tries to take deep breaths. André tightens his grasp on the ropes at his neck, holding him up as he watches Jev all but collapse onto the floor in front of them. His long body stretches out, shoulders leaning back against the low seat of the couch, gazing at them through dazed, slumberous eyes as André strokes his fingers through Carl’s hair soothingly, combing it back out of his face. He feels how it’s damp where strands have stuck to the wetness of drool and Jev’s come around his mouth, down his chin. He tries to slacken his grip on the rope, but Carl sways precariously, and André isn’t sure he can entirely hold himself up.

“Steady,” André murmurs, adjusting his grip on the ropes as he sinks to his knees behind Carl. He wraps one hand around his waist, steadying him against himself, then twists his hand into the ropes where they meet at his solar plexus. His grip pushes against the chain suspended between Carl’s nipples, dragging a pained groan from his abused throat. With his hold secure on the ropes, André lifts his hand from Carl’s waist up to his face, making him lean further into him, rest his head against André’s shoulder. 

“Did you enjoy that?” André asks, his voice low and intimate as his lips ghost against Carl’s ear, a sweet and gentle touch at odds with the harshness of before.

Carl makes a wrecked little noise. 

“Did you come from that? From getting your throat used? Was that enough to make you soil yourself?” 

Carl whimpers, shaking his head the tiniest fraction.

“Do you want to come?” he asks, already knowing the answer before he can hear the breathy  _ yes _ fall from Carl’s lips. “Do you think you deserve to come?” The way Carl says  _ please _ makes André’s toes curl pleasantly, his own cock throbbing where his hips are pressed snugly against Carl’s arse. He closes his eyes for a moment to center himself, then meets Jev’s eyes over Carl’s shoulder. “Care to give him something to rub against?”

Jean-Eric is still sprawled across the space between Carl’s body and the couch, his long legs askew. It takes him a moment to catch on, following André’s eyes as André demonstratively looks at Jev’s leg. He groans, but shifts without protest until he’s sprawled on his back, one of his legs bent up with the sole of his foot flat against the rug, his shin pressed up against Carl’s crotch.

Carl whimpers, hips bucking forwards mindlessly at the sudden pressure against his cock, still covered by the layers of his slacks. Part of André wants to strip him, to draw it out, see for himself how aroused he is, feel the heat of his hard dick in his palm, but he doesn’t really need that as evidence, everything about Carl’s body showing how close to the edge he is, barely clinging on.

“Well, go on,” André encourages him. “Get yourself off.” He can feel Carl try and restrain himself, clinging to the last scraps of his dignity, but his body is desperate to chase the completion set in front of him, quite literally by Jean-Eric’s leg. André watches him move against the firm press of Jev’s shin, trying to figure out what works best for his body, how to align himself as he squirms inside the bonds. It makes the chain between the nipple clamps move against the back of André’s hand, reminding him of it. He hides his grin against Carl’s throat, licking at the sweat-salty skin as he moves his free hand across Carl’s chest, catching the chain between his fingers, tucking lightly on it. It’s enough to make another painful moan erupt from Carl’s throat. 

“Your nipples must be so numb by now,” André says, almost conversationally. “Shall I take these off?” he asks innocently. His fingers follow the chain to one of Carl’s nipples, stopping short of the end of the clamp, feeling Carl nod erratically, his damp hair catching in the stubble along André’s jaw. He wraps the chain around his finger, and Carl suddenly freezes, his sensation swamped brain having caught up.

“No. Fuck, don’t,” he pleads, his voice breaking, his body quivering with how he’s trying not to move.

André pauses for a moment. “No? Or  _ no? _ ” he prompts, knowing that Carl will understand, that he won’t go there if Carl really doesn’t want, that he’s got a chance to put a stop to this. He twists to be able to see Carl’s face, how he screws his eyes shut, biting his lip. “Carl?” It prompts a tiny shake of his head, his body tense, but he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t use his safeword.

André tugs sharply.

The clamp snaps free with a metallic click as it shuts after having slipped free off the fabric and Carl’s nipple beneath. He howls, his body convulsing under the sudden pain as blood rushes back into the abused flesh, trying to shield himself from the pain that is like needles stabbing at him, his arms flexing impotent against the secure bind of the rope harness around his chest. It’s beautiful, the way he twists, moaning between gulps of air, his hips pushing forwards.

“I think he’s come from that.” Jean-Eric’s voice cuts through the desperate noises Carl can’t keep inside. André meets his eyes, seeing them wide with awe, the tip of his tongue nervously slipping out to wet his lips. Jev looks debauched, moving his leg and causing Carl’s body to shudder in André’s grasp.

André presses his mouth to the side of Carl’s throat, tasting the rapid beating of his heart against his tongue as he sucks lightly, grazing his teeth over his skin. “One more to go,” he whispers. Carl whines, high pitched and desperate, but he doesn’t plead now, doesn’t struggle, his body almost relaxing as he gives in to the inevitable, the high of his orgasm mixing into the adrenaline high of the pain. André kisses his neck again. “You’re doing so well.” He moves his hand, wrapping the dangling end of the chain around his fingers, starting to draw it taut. Carl whimpers, but the sound is defenseless, having completely given in, his jaw slack as he draws deep breaths.

André tugs on the next exhale. Carl pushes his chest outward, following the sensation, the broken noise it wrenches from his throat something like a sob. His body shakes, overheated and oversensitive, going entirely boneless, collapsing into André’s hold, relying on him to hold him up. 

André does, wrapping both his arms securely around Carl’s waist and chest, holding him tightly, rocking them gently as he feels Carl slowly catch his breath, slowly stop shivering and shaking violently, though he can tell that he’s far away, riding the aftershocks of adrenaline and endorphin in his system. It makes him look vulnerable in a way that André isn’t used to, isn’t sure he has seen before. It makes him hope he’ll get the chance to see it again. The trust that he’s been gifted makes him shake a little in turn. It’s a heady feeling.

Before long he can feel the slump on Carl’s body pulling him down, Carl curling forwards, and André guides him to the floor, to curl up on his side on the rug. The way he comes to rest looks uncomfortable, the way his shoulder pushes into the rug, his arms still restrained behind his back, but when André reaches for the ropes he twists away, his body still shivering. It’s a reaction André knows, not first hand from Carl, but from other subs he’s played with, he’s bound. He rests his hand on Carl’s neck, a firm but gentle hold.

“It’s okay, you can keep the ropes a moment longer,” he confirms, feeling Carl relax immediately, sinking further against the floor. André looks around, trying to get his bearings back. His eyes land on the towels on the touch and he stretches to reach for one. He folds it, then slides his hand beneath Carl’s head to lift it from the rug, makes it rest on the towel instead, the position a little more comfortable cushioned by the towel. Carl makes a soft noise, sighing languidly. His eyes are closed, but not screwed shut. There’s no trace of the restlessness he had displayed upon his arrival roughly an hour ago. It makes André extremely pleased with himself. He checks the ropes quickly, but they aren’t cutting into Carl’s limbs dangerously, making it okay to leave him like this for a moment, letting him come back down slowly. André strokes his fingers through his hair, pushing the strands away from his forehead and cheek. “Rest a bit. We’re within earshot.”

Waiting until he’s seen Carl nod slightly, André pushes himself to his feet. He stretches languidly, rolling his head from one side to the other, reaching down to adjust himself in his jeans. He hasn’t come, but there’s a pleasure almost indistinguishable from orgasm coursing through his veins, and the day is still young, the afternoon only starting to turn into evening as the sky starts to darken outside, the light inside the apartment noticeably dimmer than it had been when they started. They’ll have to switch on the lights soon. He turns to Jev, holding out his hand and pulls the other to his feet when he feels Jev clutch his hand tightly, leaning in for a short, soft kiss before he turns towards the large door connecting the living room to the kitchen, his mind set on the juice he knows is waiting chilled in the fridge.

  
  


Jean-Eric does up his zipper, buttons his jeans. He is momentarily confused, vaguely remembering he’d put on a belt in the morning, but doesn’t turn around to go back for it as he follows a couple steps behind André into the kitchen. He flinches when André hits the lightswitch by the door, the large chandelier above the kitchen island blinding. He stops where he is standing, feeling dazed, shivery, the air in the room cool against his overheated skin as he becomes aware of the sweat drying on his skin. The inside of his underwear feels tacky against his crotch, uncomfortable, making him feel uneasy in his pristine, clean kitchen. He turns for the door to the hallway, but the movement means he can see Carl’s body curled up on the rug in the living room from the corner of his eye, his back, his arms crossed behind them and still held up by the rope, his white shirt gleaming in the rectangle of light the kitchen chandelier is throwing through the door jamb, its outline getting more distinct the dimmer the light outside the window becomes, and it makes him falter again. He can’t leave the room, he can’t go further away. Even the couple meters distance make him feel shaky and like an arsehole for having just left him there.

He forces himself into movement, going to the kitchen sink instead to at least wash his hands, though it doesn’t really help with his overall feeling of stickiness.

Meanwhile, André has opened the fridge, retrieving a jug of orange juice he had prepared earlier, having returned from the grocery store in the morning with a net of fat, juicy oranges. It makes a loud clunk as he sets it down on the kitchen island, then searches through the cupboards for glasses and the box of round, salty crackers he knows Jean-Eric keeps as comfort food to pile high with cream cheese and grapes or figs when they indulge in a bottle or two of red wine. It’s all entirely mundane, domestic, jarring to Jev’s nerves as he tries to find his bearings, only the warm glow of arousal and the confident, satisfied way André holds himself telling of the events of the past hour. It makes Jev want to scream.

“You’re wasting water.” André’s voice so close to him makes him jerk, splashing some water against his shirt as he steps away from the sink, making space. André grins at him as he steps closer, extending his hands under the faucet, but his smile falters when Jean-Eric averts his eyes, biting his lip as he reaches for a towel, drying his hands haphazardly. “You okay?”

Jean-Eric turns away, tossing the towel onto the kitchen island, bracing himself against the edge of the counter top. He closes his eyes, taking a deep breath, but it comes out shaky over his lips.

“Jev?”

His fingers flex, almost painfully around the edge of the counter. “You’re an arsehole,” he says, keeping his voice down, but he still sounds shrill to his own ears. He opens his eyes, looking across the kitchen island and the room beyond to the doorway leading into the living room, gritting his teeth. His stomach churns. He turns around. “You were supposed to make him feel good.”

André is leaning against the counter across from him, having turned off the faucet after washing his hands. They are still damp where he’s crossed his arms over his chest. He frowns. “I’d say he’s feeling pretty good right now,” he suggests, his voice cautious, looking a little confused by Jev’s sudden accusations.

Jev bites his lip, gesturing wildly behind him. “We can’t just leave him there,” he exclaims. “Abandoned, all alone.” He’s searching for words, trying to put the anger and nausea he’s feeling, he hadn’t expected to feel, into a coherent thought he can communicate. It feels impossible. “It’s not fair,” he finally settles on, feeling childish, scratched raw. He wants to take the lead, return to the living room, curl around Carl’s back, wrap himself around him. Leaving him there all by himself feels wrong, in a way that’s tangible, almost like a pain in his own body.

The calm, calculating look on André’s face doesn’t help. “It’s okay. Carl is okay. People need different things after a scene. I’ve played with enough people who like to just enjoy the feel of being bound for a while. We won’t leave him there for long.” André frowns, shifting his weight and relaxes his arms, something like recognition spreading across his face. “Do  _ you _ need a hug?”

The question throws him. Jev stares at André, opening his mouth to decline, but he can’t say anything. His throat feels tight. He bites his tongue, his leg jiggling nervously, as his mind races to search André’s offer for a hidden agenda, for something that André can turn on him as easily as he played Carl. André pushes himself away from the counter, transmitting his actions clearly, but it still takes Jev by surprise when he’s suddenly in his space, having stepped up close. André reaches out, his hands settling on Jev’s waist tentatively, before he slides them around his middle, his palms warm through the fabric of Jev’s t shirt. It doesn’t help with the shivers making his skin turn to goose bumps. André doesn’t pull him away from the kitchen island, rather crowds him against it, a secure structure behind Jev, caging him in, André’s chest warm and inviting pressing against his own, his breath ghosting over the ticklish skin at Jev’s neck. The urge to wrap his own arms around André, to hide his face against his shoulder and breathe in the familiar scent of his skin and sweat and the spice of his aftershave has Jev’s knees go weak and he gives in, feeling André’s arms safely lock around him in turn.

“I’m sorry,” André murmurs after a while. He’s swaying them gently, his fingertips playing through the short hairs at the nape of Jev’s neck. “I should have accounted for how it’s affecting you as much as it’s affecting him.”

Jean-Eric hums quietly. He still feels unsteady, but the way André is holding him helps. He knows he’s a cuddler after sex, but he always tries not to let his clinginess show too obviously. It’s a weakness he doesn’t like about himself. André never complains, but the steady intensity with which he’s holding him now seems so different from the casual arm he usually slings around Jev’s shoulders to hold him close. It feels like he’s holding Jev himself together right now, like he’d easily fly apart without André’s arms around him. “I was mostly just watching,” Jev whispers, trying to rationalise it for himself.

André shakes his head. “Even if you were just watching, you’re new to this kind of play. But you were just as much part of it,” he says, moving his fingers from Jev’s neck to stroke his hair behind his ear, caressing the shell of his ear. “You followed my orders really beautifully. You fucked his mouth so well.” His voice is all low, his tone making a new shiver chase down Jev’s spine. “I’m very pleased.”

His praise is like a warm blanket settling around Jev, wrapping him up. He makes a pleased little noise himself, and allows André to guide him into a slow, deep kiss, reminding him of the kiss they’d shared earlier, with Carl kneeling between them. It makes his spent cock twitch with renewed interest.

“Are you okay if we keep playing?” André asks as they’re resting their foreheads against each other. “It’s okay if this has been enough for you. I’m not actually sure whether Carl is up for more, but you said he usually disappears for more than a day. It’s okay if you need some time to process though, decompress.”

Jev shakes his head. “No, it’s okay. I’m good,” he insists, though he still feels a little dizzy. “Really,” he insists when André moves a step back without entirely letting go of him yet, searching his face. Apparently he finds what he needs to see. He nods courtly, then gives him another sweet kiss.

“Have a couple sips of juice and a cracker,” he advises. “I don’t want your blood sugar to drop too badly.” He curls his fingers pleasantly against Jev’s nape, petting him like a cat. “Then we should check on Carl, yes? I think he’s been alone for long enough.”

  
  


Carl is lying as they had left him. André walks up to him slowly, his fingers still entwined with Jev’s, leading him. He’s still weary, wants to kick himself for not having noticed earlier how their play was affecting Jev; he’s setting the scene, it’s his responsibility. It leaves him with a bit of a queasy feeling he’s trying not to show, knows that it can happen. He’ll do penance for it later; for now it sharpens his awareness as he motions for Jev to set the glass of juice with a plastic straw in it on the floor, then sit down with his back leaned against the couch, making sure Jev is comfortable before he turns his attention to Carl.

He’s curled up on his side, his chest rising and falling with his steady breaths. His face is relaxed, his eyes closed. He could almost be asleep, though his eyelids flutter slightly as André kneeling down on the rug makes the antique wooden floorboards beneath creak quietly. André reaches out, touching his face gently, fingers following his cheekbone to his temple, stroking through his hair until Carl opens his eyes, blinking blearily.

“Relaxed?” he asks.

Carl hums, still seemingly far away. He closes his eyes again, a vague smile stretching his lips. André looks up to meet Jean-Eric’s eyes for a moment, seeing him watching attentively, chewing on his lips, but he too seems more relaxed, seeing how Carl isn’t in any discomfort. André returns his gaze to Carl.

“I’m going to untie you now.” The announcement draws an unhappy sound from Carl’s throat, but André is adamant about it. “And you need a shower,” he adds as he reaches for the ropes, careful where to slide his hands beneath. “Come on, sit up. Slowly,” he encourages, using his hold on the ropes as leverage to prompt Carl into sitting up, careful not to cause him dizziness at the change of position. Carl doesn’t resist, and a moment later they’ve maneuvered him around a bit, Jean-Eric starting to help as he recognises André’s intentions, Carl coming to sit between Jev’s splayed legs, his back resting against Jev’s chest, though the bulk of his tied arms makes him stick out his chest to accomodate for them. André reaches for the glass of juice, lifting the straw to Carl’s lips, waiting for him to draw a sip before he puts it aside again, then starts on the knots tying the ropes across Carl’s chest.

The knots come apart slowly, having been drawn tight by Carl’s struggling earlier. André works systematically, retracing the steps from earlier, his focus entirely on the ropes, barely noticing the way Jean-Eric is stroking his hands soothingly over Carl’s waist and thighs, licks at his neck. The ropes come apart, slowly freeing some of Carl’s movement, though the knots at the front had been mostly to lock the harness into place, only once the knots going down his back are removed will he be able to move his arms again.

“Scoot forward a bit?” André says once he’s undone the front. Carl does as he’s told, shuffling forwards and bending as far as he can to allow some space between his back and Jean-Eric’s chest. André cups the back of his head for a moment, then moves to one side, starting to undo the knots from the neck down, until he reaches the point where they split to identical knots on each side of his torso. Jean-Eric watches him curiously, then lifts his own hands to start working on the knots on the other side of where André is working them open, careful to do it in the same sequence. His long fingers are clumsy with the ropes, unused to the types of knots André could probably do in his sleep, but it helps relieving the tension holding Carl’s arms tight on both sides equally, which will probably be a good thing once the pins and needles set in. He’d been careful not to cut off circulation when tying the ropes, but just being held in the same position for so long and the way he’d been slumped on the floor, putting his weight on his shoulder, will probably leave Carl with at least some numbness. The way he grunts when more and more of the ropes are undone until only the last knots tying his wrists and lower arms across his back are left, testify to that. André reaches for them before Jean-Eric can start working them open, covering Jev’s hands. “Rub his upper arms?” he suggests, waiting until Jev nods and does as he’s told before he undoes the last knots.

Carl curses under his breath, his arms shaking and quivering as the give of the rope makes them slide down his back. André helps him guide them to his front, making Carl sit up straight and then rest back against Jev’s body again, massaging his hands while Jev keeps rubbing up and down his upper arms, watching how Carl has screwed up his eyes, but his head is resting against Jev’s shoulder, his overall body language relaxed despite the momentary discomfort as his body adjusts. He lets go of Carl’s hands, taking a moment to touch Jev’s leg where they’re bracketing Carl’s, causing Jev to look up from where he’s nuzzling long Carl’s neck, obviously pleased now that he’s got his hands on Carl, the way he’s holding him at least as beneficial for Jev’s headspace as it is for Carl’s, if not more so.

“Will you tie me up again?” Carl’s voice is a low gravelly drawl, his voice hoarse. André reaches for the glass set down on the floor next to them, offering the straw for him to have another sip, using the time to order his own thoughts.

“If you want me to,” he says, squeezing Carl’s thigh. “But let us get you out of these clothes first and into the shower.” 

Carl hums in agreement, his eyes fluttering closed again. André reaches for his hands, undoing the buttons at his cuffs first before he starts on the buttons down the center of his chest, pushing the fabric apart. The ropes have dug into his skin, though the fabric of his shirt has turned the marks into vague stripes of reddened skin, looking more like fine bruises than distinct indentions. It makes André wonder what kind of marks the ropes will leave against his naked skin, already looking forward to that. Maybe he can involve Jean-Eric a little more in that too, teach him to tie some of the knots. He doesn’t seem to be scared by the ropes, just inexperienced. There are other types of props in the bag he packed for today too, and he makes a mental inventory as he finishes unbuttoning Carl’s shirt, freeing him from the fabric. 

Carl shivers, goose bumps spreading and raising the hair across his chest. It draws André’s eyes to the dusty red of his nipples, looking tender and bruised. André dips his head, leaning in to lick at one while his fingers go to the other. He tastes the salty residue of sweat as he licks over it, drawing it into his mouth to suck gently, making Carl moan quietly and squirm, trapped between André and Jean-Eric. It’s been a while since André has played with anyone so unashamedly responsive now that he’s allowed himself to submit. André nibs at his nipple a couple times, drawing more desperate noises out of Carl, before he licks a broad stripe up his chest to meet Jean-Eric’s mouth over Carl’s shoulder, kissing him deeply. When he draws back, Jean-Eric’s eyes are dark with renewed lust. André smirks, then sits back, lowering his hands to Carl’s thighs to squeeze the firm muscles he feels beneath his slacks excited for what the rest of the evening might bring.


End file.
